


Until we reach the other side of the road

by kwunkwun



Category: EXILE (JPOP), J Soul Brothers (Band), Sandaime J Soul Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11080032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwunkwun/pseuds/kwunkwun
Summary: His lover’s hand is warm and lax against his, moulding to his in the same way that flower petals fold approaching dusk.





	Until we reach the other side of the road

**Author's Note:**

> hello again

Emptiness is the colour of the sky after a storm. Depleted of rain, dove gray, still and frozen. He feels the hard chill of the window glass against the back of his skull. Fifteen stops in on the Oume line towards whichever nowhere town, the blur of residential areas and shops soon give way to the majestic viridian of the Musahino Plains.

For once, his phone sits in airplane mode inside the inner pocket of a nondescript black windbreaker. Because that is part of the bargain. Also it is because his dominant hand is occupied by another: slim fingers, half-moon fingernails, no rings, an umber mole sitting just to the left of the back of his palm. His lover’s hand is warm and lax against his, moulding to his in the same way that flower petals fold approaching dusk.

The vibration of the train carriage has long since lulled Ryuji to intermittent sleep. He feels him breathe, counts the seconds between every inhale and exhale, and gets a mini heart attack every time that Ryuji unconsciously starts back into semi-wakefulness. Even on the fifth time it happens he forgets to get irritated, because the moment is rare. He knows that it will become one of those sepia-tinted vignettes that comes back to him like a dream when they are once again on different sides of the world, separated by miles and miles of telephone lines and fourteen hours worth of time difference.

Ryuji’s eyelashes tremble gently in his slumber, casting dandelion shadows against cheekbones still tan from the months spent under a foreign sun. The miniscule parting between his lips seem to have been perfectly orchestrated, because they are impossible to look away from. Which is fine. He can look all he likes in this empty train towards a nowhere town, while Ryuji is too tired to complain with rosy cheeks and a pouting mouth.

They reach their 17th stop. He slowly glances up to read the station name as the doors shuffle open. The off white and sapphire floor tiles of the platforms gleam from recent rain, and the frigid air that enters the carriage has a markedly different quality than the city air. It is completely romantic. Him and Ryuji with only a rucksack between the two of them, making a great escape from civilisation. Although he knows that he will soon complain about the lack of facilities in whatever countryside ryokan they manage to find, and then Ryuji will complain about him complaining, and then they will half-seriously fight, and then get over it, and then laugh, and then make up, and then repeat it all in a few hours.

Ryuji’s fingers squeeze his, and he turns to spy the baby-soft smile pulling at the corners of Ryuji’s lips. Carefully, he reaches up to manoeuvre the disobedient blond strands of his hair back into a good-looking fringe. Still in apparent slumber, his lover blushes faintly.

The train rumbles back to life.

 

 

 

Fin.


End file.
